


Prettiest Claws In All The Land

by jettiebettie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Genderswap, Nail Polish, Yes all of them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2017-11-26 02:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jettiebettie/pseuds/jettiebettie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nail polish is just a hobby, no matter what her best friend or her mother says. She doesn’t need an intervention and she doesn’t need a certain sourwolf telling her she has too many. She doesn’t have a problem, is what she’s saying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Solitario24](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solitario24/gifts).



> This is for Lily (Solitario24), who is my Great Enabler.

Stiles’ first bottle of nail polish was a horrific shade of purple, something half-way between hot pink and a punch-to-your-face bruise color. Instead of painting her nails, however, she painted the neighbor’s cat, which seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, and she even tried to explain herself, but the logic of an eight-year-old isn’t exactly sound. The bottle was quickly taken from her and apologies were made to angry pet owners. It was too late, though; a new found obsession had already begun to take form.  
  
Eight years later, Stiles had shelves set up on her wall to house her sizable collection. On any random night, the Sheriff could walk into her daughter’s room and find her rearranging them. By color one day (“Rainbow Brite, bitches!”), then by frequency of use, by name (Baby Blue, Beige Rage, Bronze, Burnt Sienna), by date purchased. It really just depended.  
  
On how anxious she was, how frustrated, how lonely, how-  
  
Skylar humored her during lunch sometimes, letting her best friend touch-up chips here and there. She’s gotten really good at eating with one hand, so it’s okay. Plus, Stiles has gotten really good at using those nail art pen thingies, and the designs she makes are actually pretty awesome, with the exception of that one time Sky was too busy making eyes at Alex and sighing like a Disney princess to notice Stiles draw tiny penises on her thumbs. Bitch.

The Sheriff has a sure-fire way of punishing Stiles when the need arises (“What have you done to your Jeep _this time_?!”) and that’s by confiscating her entire collection. She even takes the clear coat bottles and that’s just downright _sadistic_.

“Mom? Mama? Mommy, please! Don’t take my babies! I _need_ them!”

“You and I are going to have a serious talk about substance dependence.”

“I’m not on drugs, Mom.”

“I’m not so sure.”

Sky had come over to comfort her, but Stiles was practically comatose when she got there. Sighing, she dug into her purse and pulled out a bottle of plain green and waved it in front of her friend’s face. Stiles nearly took her arm off in an attempt to grab it.

“Dude! I am gonna want that back, you know!” she protested. The responding hiss made her reconsider.

The first time Deidra was in the teenager’s room, she was too busy worrying about the whole fugitive thing to really notice the wall of color next to Stiles’ closet. And really, how did she manage that? It’s _right there_ in all its glory and the sharp scent of the polish clings to everything in the room. Stiles was currently looking up potential ways to preemptively protect from the type of wolfsbane most commonly used by the Argents, but it’s slow going and Deidra can’t help but stare.

“You know, this is gonna take me a while. Could you maybe creep somewhere else?” Stiles huffed, slamming yet another book closed. Deidra said nothing, pointedly ignoring the other. Stiles, irritated and totally mature, began making faces at the werewolf’s back. She was making fangs with her index fingers when Deidra turned to look at her. She flailed and made an aborted move to scratch her chin. With both fingers. _Smooth Stilinski,_ she thought to herself.

“Did you mug a rainbow?” Deidra asked. Stiles gaped and pulled a _bitch, please_ face.

“Excuse you?”

“Why the hell do you have so many of these?”

“It’s called a hobby, you ass.” Stiles jumped out of her chair and placed herself between Deidra and her babies.

“Why do you need seven shades of brown? Why does _anyone_ need seven shades of brown?” Deidra asked, and if it weren’t for the truly baffled look on her face, Stiles probably would have slapped her, because really, _brown_? She only owns one true brown, thank you very much.

“I don’t ask about your pathological need to do push-ups with one hand, okay? Stay away from my Wall of Awesome.” With that, Stiles walked back over to her desk and picked up another book.

A few minutes went by in relative silence before Stiles finally lifted her head to ask why the older woman was still there. She bit her lip when she found Deidra examining her own nails, brows pulled forward. Stiles set down the book. Deidra looked up at the sound and quickly let her hands drop, shoulders tensing. Stiles’ teeth let go of her lip.

“Do you want to use one?” she asked. Deidra looked her in the eye, surprised. A determined frown replaced the naked emotion almost immediately.

“No,” she said in a harsh tone. Stiles rolled her eyes, walked over to Deidra, and grabbed one of her hands. The fingers themselves were flawless and smooth, long and elegant. Totally misleading as Stiles has seen the damage these fingers can do and the strength they hold. The nails are a different story all together. They’re short; not bitten or filed, no; they’re broken. A couple of them have terrifyingly jagged edges and others look like they’ve been rubbed against jeans in order to take some of that jaggedness away. Stiles looks up at Deidra, but Deidra is obviously trying to look anywhere but at Stiles or at her hands.

“Werewolf healthcare not cover nails?” the teenager asked. Deidra snorted in a rather unladylike manner.

“Not unless the nail bed has been injured,” she explained. Stiles looked at the nails once more before nodding to herself and pushing Deidra towards her bed.

“Sit down,” she said, going over to her Wall of Awesome and grabbing nail clippers, file, and buffer cube. Deidra frowned even harder.

“I’m not letting you play beautician,” she growled. Stiles pulled up her desk chair to the bed.

“You are if you want your nifty wolfbane shield.” Stiles was already grabbing one of Deidra’s hands and going to work, focus sharp enough that Deidra floundered for a moment before sitting herself down on the bed. She would let it happen.

But she wouldn’t be happy about it.

Stiles made quick work of smoothing out the ends of the nails and was starting on buffing out the tops when she smirked.

“So, should we start talking about all the cute boys we like or-”

Deidra made a motion to pull her hand away, but Stiles held on tight.

“I’m kidding! Jesus, relax, would you?”

“Just hurry up and finish,” Deidra commanded, irritated.

“Oh, I am so far from done, Your Majesty,” Stiles said. She stood up and walk back over to her wall and scanned it. She plucked up two bottles and a pen with a self-satisfied grin. “Here we go!” Deidra, if possible, frowned harder.

“I don’t want you to paint my nails. This was enough-”

“You can’t let me shape them and then not let me make them pretty, that is such a dick move,” Stiles said as she shook the bottles.

“There’s no _point_ ,” Deidra emphasized.

Stiles tilted her head in the universal gesture of _the fuck you say_? “The point is to make them look nice.”

Deidra looked down at her hands and clenched them. “They’re just going to get ruined again. Probably in a few hours. It’s a waste,” she argued. “There’s no point if I’m just going to mess them up.”

“And you call me an idiot,” Stiles said. Deidra glared at her. “Dude, I mess mine up in the span if a day _all the time_. Look!” She held up her nails to the other. They were a painted a shimmery orange that changed to pink depending on how the light hit it. They were also chipped in several places, and it was obvious that she had tried to do a touch-up on a couple in certain places. “And that’s just since _lunch_ ,” she explained. Deidra looked almost resigned.

“They’ll be ruined the second my claws-”

“Yeah, yeah, but until then, they’ll look _awesome_.”

Twenty minutes later, Deidra’s nails were midnight blue with silver metallic french tips. Stiles had also drawn Deidra’s triskele on her ring fingers. Stiles just finished giving them a clear coat and they shined in the light of bedside lamp. She hopped back over to her chair and picked up the werewolf’s hands to admire her work.

“I’m afraid to touch anything,” Deidra confessed.

“Sweet. I’ll remember that next time you look like you’re about to throw me into a wall,” Stiles said happily. Deidra couldn’t stop the upturn of her mouth. Stiles was close to telling her she looked even prettier when she did, but then she remembered how much she valued having a functioning jugular.

“See? Admit it, you want me to do your nails every day, forever and ever. You’re in awe of my skills. You-”

“You’re still holding my hands.”

Stiles pulled hers away like she’d been burned and she felt her cheeks flush. Deidra smirked at her and she frowned back, only a little annoyed.

“Oh, shut up. You know, you were only _slightly_ easier to work with than an angry cat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explanation for Fem!names and why certain ones were used:
> 
> Stiles obviously is still Stiles. It’s a nickname based on their last name. Just assume whatever Canon!Stiles name is has been genderbent as well.
> 
> Scott became Skylar (aka Sky) because yes. It’s feminine (and pretty) and still carries the “Sc-” sound to preface the rest.
> 
> Allison is Alex because I feel that’s also a smooth transition. I was not going to call her Alfred or Alphonse or Alphonso. It just wasn’t happening.
> 
> Derek is Deidra because he was the hardest and he was pissing me off. We had several candidates:
> 
> Darcy (couldn’t because Oooooh, Mr. Darcy!)  
> Derrika (I felt like this was too close to Derek, sorry, didn’t work for me)  
> Danica (meh)  
> Daria (meh)  
> Debra (meh)  
> December  
> (Jettie: who names their kid December?  
> Lily: pin-up calendar collectors.)
> 
> Finally we just went with Deidra because it pissed us off the least. Feel free to substitute that with whatever else you want.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lily wanted fingers in mouths.

Skylar always knew what to get Stiles on her birthday. It was always more of a problem of _what color do you want it in, weirdo_? New polish, a new buffer, and maybe a pack of Twizzlers or two. It was tradition more than routine and one that Stiles anticipated every year. Sky had really come through these past couple of birthdays. Geisha Lips Red and Makin' Bank Gold are the prize centerpieces of her collection and used sparingly. This year should have completed a holy trinity of butyl acetate. It should have been the single most perfect polish Stiles had ever seen.

Instead, she is given a taser. 

Skylar, bless her, is looking so damn proud of herself that Stiles can't ask her _why_. No need, really, as Sky explains herself.

“I figured, you know, with that creepy Alpha pack hanging around, it'd really make me feel better if I knew you had some way to defend yourself. Alex helped me pick it out! He says this is the easiest to operate,” she says, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. Stiles is too overcome with sisterly affection to point out that her mom's the sheriff and that Stiles can clean, assemble, and discharge a firearm well enough that a simple taser ain't no thing (though she's still working on crossbows). Or to ask where the fuck Sky is hiding the mythical Polish of Destiny she had worked up in her mind. No, instead she clutches the taser to her chest and gives Sky a hug, thanks her, and leaves the McCall residence armed, disappointed, and full of cupcakes.

She sits at a stop light and turns the taser over in her hands. She can't help the fond smile or the amused eye roll as she puts the taser in her hoodie pocket. She'll put it in her glove compartment once she's had a chance to clean out the Jeep. The light turns green and she continues home.

It's late, super late. So late, it's already tomorrow. She's lucky her birthday wasn't on a school night, or her mom wouldn't have been down with the midnight cupcake extravaganza. The Sheriff is probably asleep by now, anyway. Stiles pulls up into the driveway. When she steps out of the Jeep, she stops dead in her tracks and looks around.

She hates this feeling. It happens almost randomly at times, a sudden sense of hyper-awareness that lasts only for a few moments but makes her breath catch in her throat nonetheless. It started soon after Michelle's death and the kamina business and never really let up. Instead, periodically, Stiles would get this unpleasant feeling of being watched, or worse, _observed_. She grips her keys tight and locks up the Jeep. She really, really hates this feeling and she can feel the all the cupcake frosting turn in her stomach. She slowly starts toward her front door, slips her hands into her hoodie pocket, and tries to calm down.

It's really not her fault that she ends up tasing the first thing that slinks out from the shadows.

That thing just happens to be Deidra.

Stiles is too surprised at first to let up on the trigger. The rabid pops of the taser accompany the sound of Deidra's body hitting the driveway. The werewolf curls up into herself with a fanged grimace and a pained yelp. Stiles releases the trigger and the crackle of electricity stops. Deidra takes a moment to get her breathing under control and then rips out the pronged electrodes with no regard to her shirt. Stiles works her jaw in an effort to form an apology, only nothing but an embarrassed garbled mess comes out. Deidra carefully picks herself up, claws scraping the pavement.

“What... the _hell_ , Stiles?” she forces out. Stiles detaches the used cartridge and flails.

“No, _you_ what the hell?!” Stiles points a finger accusingly. “What are you- Why with the- Bad! Bad wolf!” Deidra glares at her. “You don't jump out of the darkness on unsuspecting people. You just. _Don't_.” Her heart is only just now stopping its rabbit pace. She looks around the neighborhood, checking to see if anyone was still awake to witness this ridiculous display. Lucky, the late hour was on their side. “Who is dying?” she asks, because let's just get to the bad stuff right away. It's not like she wanted to go sleep off her sugar high or anything.

“No one is dying,” Deidra grits out between her teeth. But, if Stiles were the honest sort, she'd say the woman looked more embarrassed than angry.

“Okay, then why are you here? Hiding in the dark? In the middle of the night?” Stiles asks slowly. Deidra pulled at her jacket, looking more and more uncertain.

“I wasn't _hiding_.”

“Then what were you doing?” Stiles asks, exasperated.

“I was waiting,” Deidra says, shuffling her feet and sticking a hand into one of the pockets of her leather jacket. When she pulls it out, her hand is gripped around something. She holds it out and refuses to look at Stiles. Stiles stops fiddling with the taser and eyes Deidra's hand. She looks between it and Deidra's face a few times before reaching out. Something is shoved into her hand, and she has to do a quick juggle to keep from dropping it.

It's a bottle of nail polish.

It's a bottle of cheap 99 cent nail polish that is a horrific shade of purple. Something between a hot pink and a punch-to-your-face bruise. Stiles has to blink a couple of times. Because allergies.

“So,” Deidra starts, uncomfortably. “Happy Birthday.” She turns stiffly, about to walk away.

“Uh!” Stiles says. She's been more eloquent in her life. Maybe. But Deidra hesitates in her retreat, so mission fucking accomplished. “This is, um. It's a little-” Deidra shifts again, trying to appear irritated instead of apprehensive. Stiles tries again. “Purple's my favorite color.” Deidra looks her in the eye before nodding.

“I know.”

“Sorry I tased you. Do you, uh. Do you want to come inside?”

“Why?”

“Because I'm out of cupcakes to apologize with. But I could do your nails again.”

“... I don't like purple.”

“I mugged a rainbow, remember? You have options.”

And not twenty minutes later, Stiles has Deidra sitting on her bed again, nails shaped and buffed. She's already been given the go-ahead for whatever color she wants, provided that color isn't purple. Or orange or yellow or pink. Jesus. She's torn, for a moment, on whether or not to do something to match Deidra's eyes, but is deeply frustrated (and shocked) to find she doesn't have the right shade of green to do those hazel eyes justice. It's a personal failing on Stiles' part, one she plans to correct in the near future because suddenly her entire collection feels wholly incomplete. She glances up high on her Wall of Awesome and pauses. Decision made, she grabs her precious bottle of Geisha Lips Red. You can never go wrong with a sexy alpha red.

Wait, what?

Stiles stumbles over nothing on her way back to the bed, and Deidra raises an eyebrow.

“Shut your face,” Stiles says, cheeks heating up. She pulls up her desk chair almost angrily, but Deidra doesn't say anything, choosing instead to merely sit there and judge her in silence. Awesome. Stiles hold up the bottle. “This is one of my absolute favorite polishes. Consider yourself honored and privileged because I haven't even used this on Sky and she's the one that gave it to me.” Deidra doesn't even bother to hide the eye roll she gives, but Stiles ignores her in favor of rolling the bottle in her hands.

She's almost finished when she realizes how easy this was. The woman didn't even put up a fight this time. Stiles risks a glance up to the other's face. She's surprised to see Deidra watching her hands. The perma-scowl has disappeared in favor of something that almost looks relaxed and it's so different from the perpetual annoyance she wears around Stiles and Skylar that the teenager blinks to make sure she's not imagining it. She's paused for too long though, because Deidra looks up from their hands.

“What?” Her tone is slightly defensive.

“Green,” Stiles blurts out. Deidra looks as baffled as Stiles feels.

“What?” she asks, confused this time. Stiles takes a quick second to gather herself.

“I wanted to use green.”

“Then why didn't you?”

Stiles wrinkles her nose and Deidra eyes briefly track down before settling back on Stiles' eyes.

“Didn't have the right shade,” Stiles says, finishing up the last nail.

“You have at least ten different greens.”

“Yeah, and none of them were right.” She hears Deidra huff softly out of her nose. “You just don't understand the subtly of color.”

“I'm surprised you have a working definition of the word _subtle_.”

Stiles throws Deidra dirty look, but it's halfhearted, because the werewolf is smiling- smirking, really, but Stiles will take whatever progress she can get. The woman is examining her nails now, hands splayed out in front of her. The red is bright and vivid, and Stiles wonders briefly if she should have gone with a darker shade, but Deidra seems pleased. Well, Stiles thinks so anyway. She's not being threatened or growled at, and really, that's the only frame of reference she has with Deidra's moods. She starts gathering up her supplies and placing them back on her wall. When she gets to the bottle Deidra had given her, she takes a moment and holds it up to the light. She's well out of her cat-painting phase, which is something of a shame, because no one in their right mind should really wear this shade of purple. She decides to wear it to school Monday along with her yellow Converse, because fuck Mondays. Stiles is placing the bottle next to Geisha Lips and Makin' Bank when she hears a frustrated sound behind her.

“ _Crap_.”

“What?” she asks, turning back to the bed. She's not expecting the guilty look she gets from Deidra.

“Nothing,” she asserts, not-so-covertly pulling her right hand behind her back. Stiles rolls her eyes.

“Show me.”

“It's nothing.”

“Dude, it's late, I'm on the tail end of a sugar rush. Don't make me tase you again. I don't want to have to paint your toes tonight, too.” _Although_ \- Stiles stops herself mid-contemplation. Deidra frowns and shows her hand to Stiles. The index finger is smudged slightly. “What did you do?” Deidra looks away, almost embarrassed, and then gestures to her shirt with the other hand.

“I was just checking to see if I'd be able to fix the tears,” she says, and Stiles takes a moment to feel an itsy-bit guilty for that.

“Well, why didn't you just say so?” she asks. She's sure Deidra the Big Bad Wolf doesn't mean to look like a kid that accidentally spilled milk, but whatever.

“It's fine, forget about it.”

“I'll fix it, just give me your hand,” Stiles says, reaching out. Deidra pulls hers back. Stiles groans and impatiently stomps her foot, because apparently neither of them feels like being an adult tonight. This morning. Whatever. She grabs Deidra's hand and, before it can be pulled back, puts it in her mouth. Deidra freezes in place, and Stiles tries to ignore the sharp taste of the polish. She gently uses her tongue so smooth out the smudge. When she feels satisfied that it's more even on the nail, she pulls the finger out of her mouth, making a face at the taste. “There! Not perfect, but it should last until you need to claw somebody's face off. Given our luck, that'll be-”

Deidra is staring at her, her ears and face red enough to compliment her nails. Sugar crash and sleep deprivation give way to terror when Stiles finally realizes what she's just done.

“Saliva!” she blurts out. Deidra's stare immediately falls to her mouth. “It reacts to the polish! It-uh. Softens it. And- and stuff. Yeah.” An awkward silence stretches for what seems like forever before Deidra visibly shakes herself. She gestures to her shirt again.

“I should- uh. I should go get this fixed.”

“Yes! I mean- Yeah, of course. You do that. Thanks for the new polish!”

“... You're welcome.”

Stiffly, Deidra makes her way to the window and, mindful of her still drying nails, lifts it up. She hesitates for moment before dropping out to the ground below. Stiles doesn't move until she can hear the distant sound of the Camaro starting up and driving away.

She then throws herself onto the bed and lets out an inhuman sound into the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will take Dylan O'Brien's love of the color purple and run with it until the day I DIE.


	3. Chapter 3

 It's probably the single most amazing t-shirt she's ever seen, Stiles is certain of it. And that's not just the coffee talking, she's almost positive, though it probably shouldn't be ruled out. The bookstore's comic section isn't the best around, but it's a great place to waste time and get the latest issue of whatever it is she's reading at the time. It's not often they have any noteworthy memorabilia, but every once in a while, something interesting can be found on the shelves and racks near the new arrivals.

Like this particular graphic t-shirt with the hottest Wonder Woman variation in the history of forever.

It's got to be the Black Canary jacket she sporting or the leather pants that must have been painted on or maybe the stylistic choice to have her in Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man pose, encircled by her lasso.

Or maybe it's the fact that she looks exactly like Deidra. With a tiara. And badass bracers. And boots meant for walking over the ruined bodies of her enemies. It. Is. _Glorious_.

So of course she buys it. How could she not? But she's never going to wear in public; Sky doesn't need to know about this. Stiles isn't kidding when she says it looks like their grumpy neighborhood werewolf. Sky's already been questioning the scent of the woman in Stiles' room on occasion, and Stiles doesn't want to admit to the late night manicures that go on. She and Deidra have never talked about it being something super secret, but it feels that way nonetheless.

So no, she won't be wearing this shirt to school anytime soon.

It makes for a decent sleep shirt, though, something to lounge around in while she's camped out in her computer chair or rearranging her Wall of Awesome. She evens buy a red that better matches Wonder Woman's bodice, not that that's creepy or anything. She's actually in the process of planning out a Wonder Woman inspired nail design when there's a knock on her window.

She's too busy being irritated at the break in her concentration to remember she's even wearing the damn thing. After opening the window, she steps back as Deidra lets herself in and puts her hands on her hips.

“We have a system, remember? You're supposed to call first,” Stiles says.

“Yeah, but my phone's been-” Deidra cuts off mid-sentence, looking down at Stiles' chest with wide eyes. Stiles' blushes, wondering if she suddenly became more endowed in the past two minutes or something, but looking down she realizes. Deidra is staring at a near exact replication of her own face. Stiles quickly crosses her arms, blushing even harder.

“So! What can I do for you?” she asks in a rush. “Research? Manicure? Come to join me for late night Chinese? Because there's this place downtown that delivers and I was just thinking about getting some-”

“Where did you get that?” Deidra asks, a blush of her own forming. “Did Patricia give that to you?”

“What's your psycho-crazy aunt have to do with my shirt?” Stiles asks, narrowing her eyes. Deidra looks... embarrassed, Stiles supposes is the best word. But at any rate, she's determined to play this off as if she's not some kind of creeper, hoarding shirts that look like super hot babes she knows.

Oh, wow. Talk about your awkward sudden self-realizations.

“Look,” she says, “I get if you're not a fan or whatever-”

“It was just a job!” Deidra blurts out. Stiles jaw hangs open mid-diversion. Deidra ignores her shock and carries on. “New York City is expensive, okay? It was just a quick way to make rent at the time!”

Oh.

Oh holy _crap_.

“This _is_ you!” Stiles exclaims, pulling at the front of her shirt. “This is your _face_! Holy shit, your face is on my chest!” She shakes her head. “Wait, wait- let me rephrase that.”

“Stiles,” Deidra says, walking up and gripping Stiles' shoulders firmly. Stiles is pretty sure she feels the tell-tale prickling of claws. “You cannot show this to anyone. I know you don't owe me anything, but _please_. No one else can know about this. It's bad enough Patricia found out.”

And now Stiles understands the power blackmail can give a person.

“On one condition,” she finds herself saying. Deidra eyes her warily, hands still on Stiles' shoulders. “You let me paint your nails however I want them.” Deidra visibly relaxes, though there is still some suspicion in her eyes.

“No purple,” she says.

“Uh no, you don't get a say in this. Sit down,” Stiles says, pointing to the bed. Deidra sighs, looks toward the window as if considering escape, and then sits heavily on the mattress. Stiles is already picking through her collection, finding the Wonder Woman Red and plucking up her Makin' Bank Gold from its position of reverence.

And then she goes about filing and shaping the werewolf's nails. Deidra's gotten a lot better about keeping still and not brooding while they do this. She's finally learned to just sit back and enjoy the process and sometimes even humors Stiles with conversation. They don't acknowledge "The Incident" that happened a few weeks ago, but both are much more careful now, Stiles by becoming more meticulous and Deidra by waiting until her nails have dried before doing anything. In fact, Stiles is so jazzed about doing this design that she startles a bit when Deidra pleads with her again.

“Stiles.” The girl blinks as she looks up. “Please tell me you won't show that shirt to anyone,” Deidra says. She seems almost ashamed, staring at the graphic as if it listed all the wrong doings she'd ever commited.

“Why are you freaking out so hard about this?” Stiles asks, rolling one of the bottles.

“Because it's ridiculous,” Deidra says, looking away. “I looked stupid in that get-up.”

It takes Stiles a moment to process that statement.

“Are you telling me you _actually_ wore this outfit?” she asks, pointing to the graphic.

“I had to. For the reference picture,” Deidra mutters, her face reddening.

“Oh my god,” Stiles says. “That's freaking awesome!” Deidra frowns.

“It's not funny,” she growls.

“I didn't say it was funny, I said it was awesome. Look at how badass you look!” Stiles says, pulls her shirt taunt to show off the graphic. “Dude, you totally have the Amazonian princess thing down.” Deidra actually ducks her head, if possible getting redder. Stiles shakes her head, going back to painting Deidra's nails. “I don't know where you got the idea that you'd looked stupid,” she says, finishing up the little details. “I mean let's be honest, this is probably the sexiest Wonder Woman has looked in-”

And then Stiles shuts the fuck up because that was over sharing. She doesn't bother looking up at Deidra, instead focusing on the woman's hands and putting a top coat on. She refuses to think about the heat in her face or how she's totally outed herself as a creeper who hoards shirts with pictures that actually are of hot babes she knows. Nope, she's just going to admire her handiwork. She's gone with her original intent of a super-heroine design with the base a lovely red and golden french tips on all but two nails.

“What's with the stripes on my thumbs?” Deidra asks. Stiles finally chances a glance up.

“It's your Golden Lasso of Truth, princess,” she says, gathering up her supplies to put back on her wall. She's about to stand up when Deidra brings her thumb up to Stiles' chin, tilting her head up. Stiles blinks. “What are you doing?”

“Lasso of Truth,” Deidra says, glancing between Stiles' eyes and lips. “Do you seriously like the way I look in that?” And Stiles can't help the stunned confession that spills out of her mouth.

“It's literally hottest thing I've ever seen in my life.”

Fucking lasso...

But before she can trip over herself backtracking, Deidra pulls her face forward and presses their lips together. Stiles ends up dropping her things in shock, eyes wide as Deidra kisses her. The woman pulls back all too soon, but Stiles is pretty sure she's about to drop dead. Holy... _Holy_ -

“Great Hera,” she breathes. The corner of Deidra's mouth quirks up in amusement and Stiles can't help but reach out, grab her by the sides of her face, and pull her forward. She's very much a part of this next kiss, even parting her lips when Deidra tongue swipes between them. It's kind of freaking amazing, until Stiles feels the woman's hand come up to curl around the nape of her neck. She pulls back sharply, grabbing Deidra by her wrist.

“What, what's wrong?” Deidra asks, surprised.

“Your nails aren't dry yet, dumbass!” Stiles says, bringing the hands in front of her for inspection. They seem to be okay, but she keeps her hold on the Deidra's wrists to keep her from screw up all of Stiles' hard work. She nervously licks her lips, probably not the best idea, as she can still taste Deidra there.

“You still can't tell anyone about the shirt,” Deidra says, raising an eyebrow. Stiles narrows her eyes and raises her chin in defiance.

“That all depends,” she says.

“On what?”

“On whether or not you were allowed to keep the outfit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, this t-shirt is a thing that exists and I am in no way ashamed to tell you how sexually attracted to it I am. It's actually my headcanon for what fem!Derek looks like. A picture of the t-shirt, long with an example of the nail design in question, are in the photo section of my twitter (@jettiebettie). 
> 
> [Fem!Stiles, by the by, is forever and always Lindsey Shaw.]


	4. Chapter 4

Look at it, you guys! Art of [Fem!Stiles](http://thecruixe.tumblr.com/post/73674980631/i-know-theres-something-weird-about-that-deidra) by thecruixe!

-

On second thought, Stiles probably should have known picking random plants was a bad idea. She chooses put the blame on her mother, because while she knows in gruesome detail what street drugs will do to a person (the Sheriff is proud of her narcotics awareness presentation and enjoys going to auditoriums to traumatize middle schoolers), Stiles was never really taught not to touch strange weeds. Or to pull them up. Or to mess with the seeds.

But the project for Biology is kicking her ass, and she needs something to show off before this semester is over, so why not cultivate the nifty little plant she found around the Hale property? It doesn't give her a rash and it hasn't wreaked havoc on her allergies, so she's pretty sure it's safe.

It's only when Skylar comes over one afternoon that she realizes this might have been a mistake.

“Uh, Sky? What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Skylar says in an airy tone. She's kneeling in front of Stiles' desk, head resting on the surface as she plays with some of the seeds that Stiles has in a petri dish. Stiles walks over cautiously, keeping an eye on Skylar as she picks up the dish. Sky's pupils are blown wide and she follows the movement of Stiles' hand closely. Intrigued, Stiles upends the dish, letting the seeds fall onto the ground.

Skylar practically falls forward onto the floor, hair falling around her face as she buries her nose into the carpet where the seeds landed. The edges of her skirt bounces around her calves as her legs kick back and forth in the air lazily. Stiles takes a step back, pulls out her phone, and take a picture.

Once she has documented evidence, she sets the petri dish on the desk and gets on her hands and knees.

“Sky?” she asks. When all Skylar does is let out a giddy snort, Stiles gently lifts a handful of her friend's hair out of the way. Skylar has the seeds pressed into her cheek and a big, dopey smile on her face. “Uh, you doin' okay there, sister?” Skylar just kicks her legs a little faster, eventually kicking off one of her shoes. The loss of it sends Skylar into another fit of laughter as she rolls over on her side.

And, before Stiles can stop her, grabs as many seeds as she can and eats them.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” Stiles shouts, reaching out for Skylar's face. She grabs Skylar by the cheeks and smushes them together. “Spit them out, Sky! Spit. Them. _Out_!” Skylar, instead, tackles her playfully to the ground.

It's all very traumatic. Especially when Stiles' mom comes home from the station and walks in on Stiles staring angrily at the ceiling as Sky hugs her torso, singing Queen's _You're My Best Friend_ off key.

“Mom,” Stiles says in a solemn tone.

“Yeah, hun?”

“I think I found something you should add to your drug slides.”

-

Turns out Stiles' harmless weed of a plant is not a weed at all.

“Anise?” Stiles asks, making a face.

“Yep,” her mom says as she goes through the day's paperwork at the dinner table.

“Like the stuff Mrs. Wilson puts in her cookies?”

“The very same,” her mom says. “It's odd though. I know dogs go crazy for it, but I've never seen a person act like that.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Odd.”

She rolls the stem of the plant between her fingers and _thinks_. She found the parent plant of hers not far from the Hale house, tucked away in what was once probably a garden. Were the Hales growing their own wolfy catnip? And if they were, was it for medicinal purposes or “medicinal purposes?” At any rate, it definitely made Skylar happy. Affectionately happy. _Loopy_ happy. Stiles can think of another werewolf who could stand to be a little loopy.

Of course, unlike Mrs. Wilson, Stiles isn't an amazing baker. The burns on her hands can attest to that, but she's ridiculously proud of her half burnt cookies anyway.

-

Stiles has never been accused of being subtle, and it's not a reputation she plans on acquiring anytime soon as she literally shoves a plate of her misshapen cookies into Deidra's face when the woman hasn't even thrown her other leg over the window sill.

“I made you something,” she says, with a big smile. Deidra eyes the plate suspiciously before glaring up at Stiles.

“What.” That's all she says. What.

“What what?” Stiles asks, stepping back as Deidra pulls herself fully into the room. “You got a problem with cookies?”

“I have a problem with you being this nice,” Deidra says, side-stepping Stiles to get to sit on the bed. Stiles' jaw drops in indignation.

“Excuse you! I'm always n-” and she has to stop herself mid-sentence, because it's a lie too large even for her. “Huh. Point taken.” Stiles takes a moment to evaluate her life and cynical attitude as Deidra just chuckles softly, leaning back against the wall. Stiles just frowns, stomping over and sitting on the bed in a huff, glaring down at her charred baked goods.

“What kind?” Deidra asks, leaving the wall to lean over Stiles' shoulder. Stiles tries not to blush when she hears and feels Deidra sniff twice. Trying becomes an impossibility when Deidra presses her ample chest fully against Stiles' back, reaching out to take a cookie.

“Uh, w-wait!” Stiles says, hit by a sudden bout of guilt. “Don't eat that-”

Deidra eats it anyway.

Stiles holds her breath as... _something_ happens to her girlfriend. Much like Skylar, the pupils of Deidra's eyes dilate. And suddenly? Suddenly the plate is no longer in Stiles' hands; suddenly the plate has nothing on it but crumbs.

It takes less than five minutes before Deidra is burying herself in every blanket Stiles owns, rolling herself up in them until she rolls herself off of the bed. She laughs out loud and bright, and it's a beautiful enough sound that Stiles almost forgets that her mom is downstairs.

Almost.

She jumps onto the blanket burrito, digging until she reveals Deidra's face which is covered in strands of messy dark hair.

“You gotta keep it down!” Stiles whispers in a harsh tone, trying to pull the hair out of Deidra's face. That gorgeous smile just widens when the woman struggles to get her arms free, bringing them up to cradle Stiles' face. “What?” Stiles asks.

“You've got moles!” Deidra whispers loudly back to her, her words tapering off a fit of giggles. Stiles stares down at her unamused.

“Yeah, I know. I was forced to be the Wicked Witch in our fourth grade production of _The Wizard of Oz_ ,” she says disdainfully. Deidra scrunches her nose in a way that Stiles refuses to call adorable.

“Moles aren't warts,” she says, using a finger to poke at Stiles' nose. “Moles are cute. Warts are not cute.”

“You know what's really cute?” Stiles asks.

“Your face?”

“No- wait! I mean yes. No. Wait, what? No. You sober. That would be cute. This was such a bad idea. Look, get up on the bed and you can sleep this off-”

She's cut off when Deidra suddenly flips them over, a feat for a woman half-encased in a blanket cocoon.

“We should run,” Deidra says excitedly, rubbing her cheek against Stiles'.

“Run? From what?” she asks, trying to get some room in between them. Any normal day she'd be dragging Deidra in closer, trying her hardest to get the mutual fondling to finally go underneath the bra, but that was for another time. A sober-er time. A time when Stiles is not once again staring at the ceiling, questioning her life choices with an intoxicated werewolf on top of her.

“Just run!” Deidra says into Stiles' neck. “We'll go to the woods. We'll run. We'll be naked.”

Stiles' imagination takes a sharp detour for a second. For a very, very long second.

“Let's not get naked,” she says, and a part of her weeps inside.

“But I wanna be naked,” Deidra says, pulling back to strip off her jacket. Stiles' brain goes on high alert. She flounders for a moment, knowing that all of this is happening because she's a creeper, but- but skin! She shakes her head.

“I'll paint your nails!” she squeaks.

Deidra pauses half-way through pulling off her shirt. Stiles is given a lovely view of a toned stomach for a few seconds before Deidra drops her shirt back down and gets off of her. She rushes over to the Wall of Awesome and starts _touching the bottles_ -

“Hey, hey! Stop!” Stiles jumps up and puts herself between the high werewolf and her babies. “Hold your horses! I won't paint them if you don't behave!” she says, plucking the bottles out of Deidra's hands. Deidra blinks at her, then makes a show of putting her hands behind her back.

“I want the purple one,” she says, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Stiles shifts the bottles into one hand before she pulls out her phone and starts recording.

“Say that again,” she tells Deidra.

“Paint my nails purple. Then I'll get naked and then we'll go run,” the woman says, bouncing a little more. Stiles stops the recording, satisfied with the blackmail material that she'll keep safe with her Wonder Woman shirt and the picture of Skylar hugging the floor.

“Well, sit down. The sooner I paint your nails, the sooner you can go run. Naked.”

-

A high werewolf is a damn fidgety werewolf.

Deidra isn't hissing or clawing at her, but she squirms about as much as that old neighbor cat. Stiles can't help but get polish on her cuticles and the sides. Every time she messes up and curses, it sends Deidra into small fit of laughter. It's even harder to get her to stop touching things once she's done with one hand and moves on to the other.

By the time she's done, the tiny bottle that Deidra got her for her birthday is almost used up, a portion of it not only on the woman's nails, but on both of their shirts, the sheets, and Stiles' face. It's a god awful mess.

But Deidra is looking at her nails happily, despite the lack of finesse in the application.

“Well,” Stiles' says, putting her bottles and tools back on the shelves. “Now I know what it takes to get you to branch out in color; the wolf equivalent of weed brownies.” She laughs a little her herself as she puts her purple bottle back in its place of reverence.

“My grandmother made bread like that,” Deidra says from behind her. Stiles freezes on the spot. “She made it for us when we were little, so that we'd be calmer during full moons.”

Stiles turns around slowly, looking with wide eyes at Deidra while she lays out on her back on Stiles' bed, still looking at her nails.

“She wouldn't give me anymore once I learned to control myself. I used to get so mad when she still made it for my little brother Cole.” And for the first time in an hour, Deidra's smile drops. Stiles wonders if the effects of the anise are wearing off. “I miss my grandma.”

Nope, Stiles thinks, putting the last of her things away. That is not a road they're ready to go down. Not tonight. Not while high off of freaking seeds.

“If you promise not to go running naked through the woods, I'll add flowers when your nails dry,” she says, changing the subject. Deidra doesn't seem to mind the suddenness of it.

“Sunflowers,” she says.

“Sunflowers on a purple background?” Stiles asks, sitting on the bed next to her.

“Sunflowers,” Deidra says definitively.

“I could have painted your nails yellow, you know. Or brown.”

“You have seven browns.”

“I do _not_ , stop saying that!” Stiles says in mock outrage.

“It had to be purple,” Deidra says, looking at her nails again.

“Why? You hate purple,” Stiles says as she rolls her eyes.

“You like purple,” Deidra tells her, as if it was simple logic. “I want you to like me.”

“Wha-” Stiles looks down at her in surprise. “... I do like you.”

“You like my nails,” Deidra whispers, as if it's a secret. “You like it when my face is on your chest-”

“It's an awesome shirt, alright! Shut up!”

“-but I want you to like me,” she finishes.

Stiles stares down at the woman for a long moment before grabbing one of her arms and pulling her into a sitting position.

“I do like you,” she says again, moving Deidra so that she falls back onto the pillow. Stiles scoots down to pull off Deidra's boots and reach down to to grab one of the blankets off of the floor. “Here's the plan,” she starts, tucking Deidra in. “You're gonna sleep this off, I'm going to take more pictures of your nails so you can't deny any of this happened, and, if you still feel like it in the morning, we'll go running naked through the woods. How does that sound?”

“No, you should wear the thing,” Deidra says, relaxing into the pillow.

“What thing?”

“The thing. The shirt. I like it when my face is on your chest too.”

“... I hate you so much right now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Hey, thecruixe. The title of this chapter is "The Dog Days Are Over." Hey. Hey, thecruixe. How much does that bother you? /chin in hands
> 
> thecruixe and I are in agreement on the portrayal of wolfsbane in Teen Wolf, in that it rEALLY MAKES US NERVOUS. YOU DON'T FUCK AROUND WITH ACONITE, OKAY? HUMAN, WEREWOLF. DOESN'T MATTER. IT'S BAD SHIT, ALRIGHT?
> 
> Let's start a new thing. I've never seen a dog high on anise, but apparently it's like catnip to them. Let's throw the wolfsbane laced alcohol away and replace it with this bad-boy, yeah? Safety first.


End file.
